


5 times Spock admired McCoy from afar and once when he got to do it up close

by musicismagic



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9661718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicismagic/pseuds/musicismagic
Summary: Pretty much exactly what the title says!Now with a bonus 7th chapter showing McCoys descent into Spock-loving-madness and their first date sexytimes.





	1. His Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for Star Trek, even though I've been a fan for 25 years!  
> It started out as an idea for a very short fic of the five things I find hottest about our dear McCoy (from Spocks perspective) and then somehow morphed itself into this monster of pining and way too wordy descriptions!  
> I don't ever seem to be able to write short fics!  
> I'm really not sure whether it's any good, or whether I've captured their voices at all so if people want to leave me constructive feedback I can try and improve it.  
> But I hope at least a few people enjoy it!

Following the Nerada Incident Spocks relationship with Jim Kirk quickly progressed into friendship, despite its rocky beginnings. His relationship with McCoy, however, was not so easy to classify. On some days they indulged in what Jim described as ‘good natured bickering’ and on other days they could send nurses running from medbay or ensigns running from the bridge, depending where they decided to host their argument. On one occasion Jim had even had to take McCoy by the arm and lead him into the turbolift to prevent someone being injured.

 

On this day, however, Spock was seeing a side to the doctor that had been unknown to him. He was watching Doctor Leonard McCoy, the Federations finest surgeon and expert medical researcher. And he was fascinated.

 

The distress call had come from Demi-Catiri V; a small M class planet in a system of six orbiting a sun of similar size to that of Earth. After a devastating illness had begun to ravage their society, they had enacted the Federations pandemic protocol and instigated a planet wide isolation. No ships could enter or leave the atmosphere to prevent the spread of the disease. But after 12 of the planets days, they were no closer to a cure and the death toll was beginning to rise.

 

The isolation meant that crewmen could not beam to the surface, nor patients to the ship (incase this new illness could not be scrubbed by the transporters bio filters) but blood samples could be transported and the research notes of the planet scientists could be easily shared.

 

The medical team was working around the clock, and Jim had temporarily released Spock from his bridge duties to assist in the research. McCoy had barely eaten or slept for three days, running on coffee, protein bars and the odd hypo of simulated adrenaline, and yet his eyes were clear, his posture straight, his hands steady and his voice clear and strong. The rest of the research team had been split into two groups, working in a 12 hours on 12 hours off rotation, however Spocks Vulcan physiology meant he could go much longer without rest.

 

McCoy was running the lab in a methodical and controlled way that deeply impressed Spock and granted him a welcome opportunity to engage in fascinating group research without having to endure the inefficiency of working to the speed of others less proficient than himself.

 

While awaiting the results of his latest test, Spock allowed himself a moment to simply observe the doctor.  With the impartial view of a Vulcan he could admit that the doctor had an aesthetically pleasing form. He was tall and broad, the definition of human masculinity, with thick glossy dark hair and eyes of a most pleasant greenish brown hue.

 

But the most riveting feature to Spock at that moment were the CMOs hands.

 

When relaxed the doctor waved his hands fluidly, as though wafting his words through the air before him towards their intended recipient. But when angered they moved with a sharpness that suggested the physical damage he could inflict of if not for his vow of “do no harm”. When treating patients his hands were gentle, probing but careful, insistent but comforting and during surgery he was capable of extraordinary delicacy and fine motor control. Spock always found the doctors hands fascinating, but right now he was enraptured.

 

McCoy was stood at the large, transparent display board at the front of the room working through more experimental formulae. His hands moved with speed and grace as he swiped chemical components left and right, adding and removing them from his next creation as though conducting an orchestra. When he was momentarily stuck he would drop his hands to his sides, but his perpetual motion remained as he tapped each finger to his thumb at increasing pace until an answer presented itself.

 

Spock would have been impressed at the doctors grasp of molecular chemistry if he could take his eyes from those elegant, dancing hands.

 

The beeping of the computer next to him roused him from his thoughts with a sharp beep, and Spock jumped so hard at the sound that his knee collided painfully with the underside of his console. Fortunately it dragged his mind back to his work with an efficiency that nothing else would have achieved, particularly as Spocks last thought before the interruption was curiosity over how those hands might feel pressed against his own, accompanied by a press of bodies and lips.

 

It was less that one standard hour later that McCoy jumped from his seat with a shout, rallying colleagues to check, test and verify that his latest formula was working. After seven separate individuals had confirmed his work, five vials of formula were sent to doctors on the planet to conduct their own tests.

 

Within minutes the call arrived to begin synthesising more and more of the cure, but McCoy cautioned restraint until potential side effects could be determined. He remained at his post in the lab for another full standard day, until the side effects were confirmed to be only minimal nausea and vertigo that subsided quickly, and then set about making arrangements for synthesis and distribution of the new drug.

 

Once the team were carrying out his orders, and now with the help of additional personnel, McCoy quite literally collapsed. Spock rushed to crouch at his side as Nurse Chapel and Dr M’Benga approached.

 

“That damn man!” Nurse Chapel exclaimed quietly “He does this every time.”

“Should we transfer him to a bio bed?” Spock asked, his human concern completely masked by his Vulcan stoicism.

“No, we just need to get him to his quarters and let him sleep it off.” M’Benga replied with a hint of amusement at Chapels ill disguised frustration.

 

McCoy started to come around, and a frown immediately etched itself onto his features.

 

“What are you all standing around here for? I gave you orders didn’t I?” He grumbled, rising to a sitting position and managing to project an air of authority despite his current location on the floor of the lab.

 

M’Benga just shook his head and dragged Chapel away by the arm before she could say any of the things she clearly wanted to.

 

Spock was still crouched beside the doctor, who pushed himself up to standing with a hand on the Vulcans shoulder. The contact allowed a muted impression of the Doctor to seep into his mind, echos of  _ exhausted proud hungry relieved _ bouncing around his skull in the seconds before he remembered to raise his mental shields.

 

Spock quickly rose back up to standing as he witnessed the doctor wobble rather precariously, and he reached out without thinking, offering himself as a support.

 

Together, with Spock wedged under the doctors shoulder and his arm around McCoys waist, they made their way to his quarters.

 

Spock deposited McCoy onto his bed and began to remove his boots. The doctor lay prone on his back, but his hands were still hovering in the air as he spoke.

 

“We saved hundreds of thousands of lives today. I’ve saved more lives in this one day than people I will probably ever meet. It’s humbling and exhilarating all at once, isn’t it?”

 

“You’re correct doctor. There are many people on the planet below who would not have survived the week without your involvement.”

 

“Our involvement! This was a team effort Mr Spock. Surely you must feel some pride for what we’ve achieved today?”

 

“Vulcans do not feel pride, Doctor”

 

“Sure you don’t.” 

 

Spock was about to retort when the sound of soft breathing met his ears, and he realised that, for the first time since the Enterprise had arrived in this system, the doctors hands were still. They were resting on his torso, one over his heart and one over his stomach, and Spock was seized with the desire to touch them, to feel their contours and heat.

 

He did not do anything of the sort.

 

Instead he finished removing the doctors boots and set them by the door on his way out.


	2. His Eyes

Khan was once again in custody, about to be placed back into stasis alongside the rest of his megalomaniacal crew. Spock had only ever seen McCoy so focussed on one other occasion, the viral outbreak on Demi-Catiri V, but the emotional weight had not been nearly so great during that event.

 

Spock had witnessed first hand that McCoy was far more capable of controlling his emotions than he had ever suspected, the doctor simply chose not to. His firmly held belief that his skill as a doctor was dependant on his ability to connect with his patients meant he was loath to give up on the power he drew from his own emotional response.

 

But in this moment it was clear that the doctors emotions were more of a curse than a blessing. His hands shook as he transferred the sample of Khans blood to the cell multiplier, and he had to angrily scrub at his eyes with the back of his knuckles before he could see the readouts clearly enough to work.

 

Spock was stood as a silent sentinel beside the cryo tube containing his friend and captain, the only distraction from his own internal turmoil existing in the form of the doctor. So, once again, he observed. It was becoming a habit since Demi-Catiri V; observing the doctor.

 

This time it was the doctors eyes that drew his focus.

 

They were ringed red and clouded with unshed tears, brows furrowed with a concentrated desperation to save the first friend he had found after “his life had imploded”. Spock watched for uncounted minutes, that turned into hours. McCoy worked frantically, as though it was his own life that was at stake.

 

Although...no. That wasn’t right. McCoy valued himself far less than he did the friends and crew under his care.

 

Spock was considering the potential causes for the doctors self deprecation when he could swear he  _ saw _ the triumph flash in the doctors eyes from across the medbay, like a solar flare exploding into space. He knew it was ridiculous, but there was no doubting the smile beginning to turn up his lips, nor the way he straightened and began pressing buttons with fervor.

 

Hours later, after Spock had been called across to verify the doctors findings, they had injected the serum derived from Khans blood into the body of their captain.

 

The number of emotions he saw dancing in the eyes of the doctor when Jims vitals began to rise were incalculable. Spock was taken completely aback when the doctor embraced him in a full bodied hug, his  _ elation, joy, relief, happiness _ slammed their way into Spocks mind, resonating with his own feelings and creating a sensation that was reminiscent of the Vulcan equivalent of intoxication.

 

As McCoy pulled away he kept hold of Spocks shoulders, looking into his eyes with a broad smile. Spock returned it with one of his own, less broad but no less sincere, and watched as those eye softened and small tears once again began to form.

 

“I really thought we’d lost him this time. Thank you, Spock. You caught Khan. You saved Jim.”

 

Spock tried to speak, but the hours of silence so soon after the roars of pain and fury that had been torn from him left his throat dry and sore. He coughed slightly and tried again.

 

“I did catch Khan, but the credit for saving Jim rests entirely on you, Doctor.” His voice was lower and rougher than usual, but otherwise his words were steady, disguising the emotions flooding him from the doctors hands still on his shoulders.

 

McCoy stepped away and turned to perform another scan of Jim. Seemingly satisfied, he gave a small bark of laughter.

 

“Well, don’t tell Starfleet that. Next time he does something stupidly noble and reckless they’ll be expecting me to do it again.”

  
As McCoy once again locked eyes with Spock, he decided that the doctors eyes, when alight with triumph and relief, were one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.


	3. His Hair

Vulcans were not a tactile people. Their touch telepathy meant that casual physical contact was frowned upon and the sensitivity of their hands meant that they avoided exploring their environment through touch in case of injury.

Humans, on the other hand (pun intended!), were an incredibly tactile people. Jim frequently clapped people on the shoulder, led them with hands at the small of backs, and otherwise initiated casual contact. Sulu and Chekov did the same, although to a much lesser extent.

The doctor was more reserved with his touches outside of his medical duties, only very occasionally reaching out to touch.

Spock bore the tactile nature of his fellow crewmen with good grace, never flinching and maintaining his mental barriers so as not to invade the emotional and mental privacy of those people who touched him. Outside of his relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, he was not prone to initiating physical contact with others.

Spock entered the medbay, moving straight towards the CMOs office. The door swished open at his approach, but was prevented from closing again by the first officer that had come to a standstill in the doorway.

McCoy was sat resting his elbows on the desk and holding his head in his hands. His normally smooth hair was disheveled and messy. Spock had stopped short, not at the sight, but at the strength of his reaction to it. The desire to run his own hands through that hair was overwhelming him, and he was back in motion again before he was quite aware of it. He stopped himself in front of McCoys desk before his hands could reach out and touch.

The snick of the door closing brought McCoy back to himself, and he lifted his head to glare at his visitor. His frown dropped slightly when he noticed Spock.

“Oh, its you. What do you want?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“I merely wished to ask after your condition? I understand the surgery was most gruelling”

“Gruelling is a damn good word for it, Mr Spock. But I’m fine. Ensign Tadaki will pull through so it's a good day's work all round. But we’re not all equipped with Vulcan efficiency so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for your report.”

McCoy reached down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, known to contain his personal supply of bourbon. He pulled out a glass and a bottle and poured himself a single finger measure.

“Can I tempt you, Mr Spock?” McCoy asked after taking his shot in one, reaching down to fish out another glass.

“My shift has just ended so, yes, I would be amenable to joining you.”

McCoys shock was palpable, but he rallied quickly and poured himself and Spock a measure each.

They drank in comfortable silence, which slowly became companionable conversation after McCoy had finished his third glass. Spock sipped slowly at his drink, finding the burn of the bourbon oddly pleasurable, but the company infinitely moreso.

His body continued to betray him as the evening drew on and he found it increasingly difficult to resist the desire to run his hands through the doctors hair. McCoy had a habit of leaning back in his chair, waving his hands as he made his point and fluffing his hair whenever he took a moment to consider Spocks responses.

When they finally left the medbay, three hours after Spock first entered, they walked to their quarters still talking. They were housed on the same floor, separated only by the rooms of the Captain, so they came to an abrupt halt when they realised it was time to part.

“Thank you for your company this evening, doctor. I have found our conversation engaging.”

Internally, Spock facepalmed.

Fortunately, McCoy laughed.

“Surprisingly, Mr Spock, so have I. It’s nice to see you loosen up a little, even if it is only by microns.” McCoy ran his hand through his hair again as he laughed, and Spocks mouth went dry. McCoy was truly stunning like this, happy relaxed and disheveled.

Spock quickly bade the doctor goodnight and performed the Vulcan equivalent of a dive into his quarters. 

He leant against the closed door and took a deep breath, then headed straight for his meditation mat.

It was becoming apparent that what had started off as a curious kind of innocent admiration was rapidly becoming something far more dangerous and he needed to put a stop to it immediately.

Unfortunately, it may already be too late for that.


	4. His Body

Spock was regular in his habits, but the events of Altamid had meant that his usual routine of attending the gym every other day had been brought to a halt.

 

He knew, of course, that it would be unwise to push himself too hard, but he also knew that meditation alone would not keep the nightmares at bay.

 

It was with a grumble of “if you reopen any of your wounds don't come crying to me” that McCoy agreed to have an exercise plan drawn up that would have minimal risk to his recovery, but Spock could not contain the grateful smile that flitted across his lips.

 

As he entered the Starfleet gym, he was pleased to find it relatively quiet. Only half a dozen people were working out at this late hour. Already dressed in his workout attire, he headed for the computer console and entered his credentials. His specially designed workout plan was shown on the screen and he began his exercises.

 

As he moved nearer to the rear of the gym he saw the large mats that served as a sparring area, hand to hand combat being an important part of any Starfleet personnels training. Before he finished his current set of exercises, the doors swished open.

 

Jim strode in, looking tired and strained, and headed straight for the mat. He seated himself and began stretching seemingly without noticing Spocks presence. Before Spock could articulate a greeting the door swished open once again. This time it was Dr McCoy who entered.

 

He was wearing a pair of black jogging bottoms that sat low on his hips and a faded t shirt that might once have been black but was now grey. It was pulled tight across his shoulders and upper chest, showing his pectoral and bicep muscles to be well developed and shapely.

 

Spocks heart rate sped at the sight of the doctor looking so casual and with so much skin on display. His arms were truly perfect. Muscled, but not excessively so, and with the perpetual golden tan the man never seemed to lose even in the darkness of space. 

 

McCoy too headed for the mat, seating himself on the floor in front of Jim and wordlessly slipping into a mutual stretching position, feet at each others ankles and wrists clasped, rocking slowly back and forth to gradually deepen the stretch.

 

Spock slowed his pace on the stepping machine so as to observe the two men. They spoke no words, seemingly going through a familiar routine of stretching and warming up. He envied the ease with which Jim would reach out and touch the doctor, an ease that he so fervently desired.

 

Their time on Altamid had been a blur of pain. The physical discomfort multiplied by the emotional hurt of the uncertain fate of their crew mates and friends. And yet, even that could not compare to the agonising thought that, through the whole ordeal, he had had at his side the person he most wanted to keep safe but that he could do nothing at all to protect him in his weakened physical state.

 

He had come so close to confessing his growing feelings, that no amount of meditation or cold Vulcan logic could eradicate, only to be silenced by McCoys gruff “you don't have to say it Spock”. The seconds between his realisation of being dematerialised and the knowledge that the doctor would indeed be transported also, were almost unbearable. He had allowed himself to entertain the notion that he was being saved and that he would have to live out his life without ever seeing the doctor again. It was as much the overwhelming relief as his injury that caused his near collapse on the Franklin.

 

He was dragged from his memories by a change in the two men he was observing. They released one another from their latest stretch and moved to opposite sides of the mat. The doctor took a sip of water and held himself still and tall, while Jim bounced on the balls of his feet and shook his arms. If he was not mistaken, they were preparing to spar.

 

Spock ceased his exercise entirely and just watched as the two men drew to the centre of the mat and tapped hands. The fact that they were sparring at all surprised Spock, the doctors distaste for violence was well known, but that neither man had donned any safety equipment was even more of a puzzle.

 

They took a step away from one another and raised their guards, beginning to circle on the mat. Spock was waiting for Kirk to make the first move, his superior size and greater combat experience making him the most likely winner, but was surprised when seconds passed and the Captain seemed unwilling to attack.

 

Eventually, however, the Captain did make his move. Rushing at the doctors middle, Spock nearly gasped aloud as the doctor smoothly sidestepped the lunge and delivered a playful blow across the back of the Captains head. Jim quickly regained his balance and attacked again, this time with a rain of open handed blows towards McCoys torso. Again the doctor blocked and sidestepped, preventing a single blow from landing on its intended target. Jim was getting increasingly aggravated as the fight went on and he was unable to strike the doctor,  who continued to block with strength and speed.

 

His movements across the mat were lithe and agile, a controlled power Spock had never before realised the doctor was capable of. It was yet another facet to the man that had his heart beating faster and heat pooling in his belly. Try as he might, while watching the play of arm and shoulder muscles through the doctors thin and tight shirt he could not will the blood away from his growing erection.

 

The doctor won the fight when a particularly wild attack from Jim saw him over balance, a fact which McCoy took ruthless advantage of. In his first attacking move, he grabbed hold of the Captain across the chest, dragging him further off balance and flipping him over his outstretched leg. Jim landed with a hard thud, followed by a rustling as McCoy flipped the winded man and immobilised him by wrenching his wrist up behind his opposite shoulder. Jim struggled for a moment, but tapped out with a good natured grin when he realised he was well and truly trapped.

 

They went through several more bouts like the first, sometimes Kirk would manage to land a blow, but every fight ended with Jim on the ground and immobilised. After the fifth such bout, they stood up and started walking towards the exit. Spocks heightened Vulcan hearing allowed him to follow their conversation all the way to the door.

 

“If you would just throw a few punches, Bones, you'd be one of the best fighters on board” Jim grumbled. 

This was clearly a longstanding disagreement, as the usually verbose doctor replied with merely a raised eyebrow and a frown. 

Jim raised his hands as if in surrender. 

“ok, ok, I get it. You're a doctor, you do no harm.” Jims hands dropped, as did his voice as he continued “but really, Bones, thank you. I needed this. I've been so wired the last few weeks that I…..”

“it's ok, Jim. I had fun. But next time, come to me before you nearly collapse from exhaustion, yeah?”

“Sure, Bones.” Jim left the gym.

“Huh! Yeah right.” McCoy huffed as he too left the gym.

 

Spock found it difficult to concentrate on the remainder of his planned workout, and decided to try again in a couple of days. Once back in his quarters he indulged in a rare water shower and an even rarer session of self pleasure, during which the image of Doctor McCoy, sweaty and flushed with exertion, dominated his mind. As his orgasm washed over him he gasped with its intensity.

  
Once dried and dressed once more, Spock attempted to meditate, but his body had other ideas. The satisfaction of a workout, even a shortened one, followed by such a gratifying sexual release meant he was dropping off to sleep rather than tuning to a higher form of consciousness. Rather than waste energy denying what he needed, Spock gave up on trying to meditate and instead went straight to bed, where sleep claimed him in moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why but I've always had this headcannon that, just because he doesn't fight, doesn't mean he can't. A guy growing up on a farm is going to be physically strong with all the manual labour, a surgeon has to be quick thinking and McCoy always seems to be able to keep up with Spock and Jim when they're on missions so I actually reckon he'd make a good fighter.  
> Plus, I had to find an excuse to get him in something tight that wasn't that blasted wetsuit from the beginning of into darkness!!


	5. His Mouth

The morning after witnessing McCoy sparring, Spock was getting his breakfast in the communal cafeteria of his temporary lodgings. It was the first time he had done so since arriving, as the rooms had replicators and a small seating area and he was usually happy to eat there. That morning, however, he had desired company. Or at least distraction.

 

Shortly after arriving he was spotted by Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu, who were seated alongside Ben Sulu and their daughter Nichelle. He took a seat alongside the group and exchanged greetings with the helmsman's family. A few moments later McCoy also entered the cafeteria. Nichelle practically jumped out of her seat and rushed to McCoy, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards their table. McCoy was able to still the young girl long enough to replicate his own breakfast before she was once again dragging him back to their table.

 

“Morning Spock. Hey Pavel.” the doctor took a seat next to Spock, opposite Sulu. “Hiya Ben, Hikaru.”

 

“Hiya doc. Sorry about your little shadow there.” Ben replied, a small but proud smile on his face as he glanced to his beautiful daughter. McCoy just shrugged with a grin that made Ben and Hikaru snicker and made Spocks stomach erupt with butterflies.

 

“Do the Magic!” she giggled, tugging on McCoys arm again.

 

“What magic?” he asked her, with an exaggerated look of confusion.

 

Nichelle just pouted at him.

 

“Oh, you mean... _ this  _ magic!” and with a flourish, he produced a small bronze disk from behind her ear.

 

Nichelle was squealing with joy, but Spock only had eyes for the doctor.

 

He was smiling widely, a light in his eyes that seemed to have been missing for the weeks since Altamid. As Nichelle dove in to circle her arms around his waist and squeeze, McCoy looked up and caught Spock staring at his lips. Spock instantly dropped his gaze to his breakfast, but could feel his face flushing with heat at being caught staring and the butterflies in his stomach had morphed into Olympic gymnasts doing somersaults.

 

Their meal continued for another half an hour, with Spock stealing glances at McCoys lips whenever he thought the other man wouldn’t notice. His smile around this effervescent young girl was intoxicating. And the doctors jovial mood was shared with the others at their table. Nyota joined them a few moments later, with Nurse Chapel at her side, and their group became louder and more raucous, as the doctor pulled more disks from increasingly unlikely places, such as Chekovs nose, Chapels fringe and Nyotas ponytail.

 

Nichelle giggled with delight every time, and McCoys smile became more and more glorious with each passing moment.

 

Before long, however, it was time for everyone to leave. Ben and Hikaru had plans with Nichelle and Chekov, whom they seemed to have taken under their wing while he was so far from any family of his own.

 

Chapel and Nyota were both due at their stations for Alpha shift, leaving with a smile and a wave to McCoy and Spock.

 

He was expecting to doctor to leave as well, but was surprised when he remained seated. He was even more surprised to see tears glistening in McCoys eyes.

 

Catching Spock looking at him perplexedly, he gave a small grin and began to wipe at his eyes.

 

“Sorry, Spock. Just...alot of memories.”

 

“Memories, doctor?”

 

“Of my Joanna when she was that age.”

 

“Joanna?”

 

“My daughter”

 

“Oh. I was unaware you had children.”

 

“Child. Just her. She’s fifteen now. Doesn’t think much of that trick anymore. Not that I get much chance to try.”

 

The bitterness in his voice was clear. But he gave a short bark of a laugh before SPock could comment further.

 

“It’s my own fault, really. I left earth before the ink was dry on the divorce papers. Didn’t even know she was pregnant until I was six months into the academy. By then she was living with a good man and said they were going to raise her together.”

 

“I am...sorry for your troubles doctor. If you ever wish to talk, I am available as a listening ear.”

 

McCoy looked up, and gave Spock his most disarming smile yet. It was small, watery with unshed tears and the corners of his mouth quivered very slightly. But it was special because it was a smile that Spocks words had counjured from a moment of sadness. Of course, he had made the doctor smile before, but never quite like this.

 

The doctor rose from his seat, nodded his head and started to walk away. Then he stopped and Spock noticed his shoulder muscles tense slightly before he turned around and came back to the table.

 

“Spock, would you care to join me for a walk?”

 

The request seemed oddly formal, but it was spoken softly, and with the ever present southern accent that made his words feel like manna to the ears.

 

“Yes, doctor. That would be most agreeable.”

 

They rose and left the cafeteria. McCoy walked half a step in front of the Vulcan until they left the busy plaza, and then they fell into step as they strolled down the concourse alongside the lake.

 

After they had completed a quarter of the circuit in silence, the doctor stopped and leant against the railings.

 

Spock stood straight beside the doctor, positioned so he could look out across the water and admire the profile of the man beside him at the same time.

 

After a few moments of silence, McCoy took a deep breath, and turned to fully face the Vulcan.

 

“I have a question to ask you, Spock. But before I ask it I want you to make me a guarantee. That no matter what your response, our professional relationship will remain unchanged.”

 

Spock was caught offguard by the passion behind the doctors words, but he answered nonetheless.

 

“I can assure you, Doctor. My professional respect for you will continue as long as your standard of work remains as admirably high as it has always been. No change in our personal situation will affect that.”

 

The doctor smirked at that response, before his lips were pressed together in a thin line. They released with a slight smacking sound as the doctor did something utterly surprising.

 

He stepped forward and took Spocks hand in his.

 

“Would you like to join me for dinner in my quarters this evening?”

 

Spock barely heard the words, the emotions coming through McCoys hand overwhelming his every other sense.

_ Fear, determination, desire, confusion, lust, passion, relief  _  they all coursed through him in an almost intangible wave of colour and light.

 

Spock felt it as the other emotions were overcome by  _ sadness, fear, rejection, humiliation _ and realised he had been silent for too long.

 

He snatched the doctors hand back before it could fully disengage and held it in front of his chest with both of his own.

 

He was still looking at their joined hands when he mumbled his reply of “Yes”, but looked up at McCoy as  _ happiness _ was telegraphed through their joined hands.

 

The smile that adorned the Doctors face was beautiful, and if Spock was not in love before, he certainly was now.

 

They leant forward together, and despite it being a chaste, closed lipped kiss, it warmed him to his extremities.

 

He hadn’t realised he had even closed his eyes until the doctor laughed.

  
“I’m going to need that hand back, Spock”


	6. + 1

Spock had never been so nervous in his life.

 

The fact that he was willing to admit to nervousness at all was a testament to how nervous he really was.

 

He was due to meet the doctor in his quarters in less than 30 minutes, but he was not even dressed yet.

 

The sound of his entry comm startled him, and his “Enter” was barked rather than spoken.

 

Infact, his voice was so unrecognisable that the computer asked him to restate the command.

 

He cleared his throat and tried again.

 

Then fought the desire to drop his head into his hands at the sight of Jim Kirk in his doorway.

 

“Heya Spock.”

 

“Captain.”

 

“How many times, Spock, it’s Jim when we’re off duty”

 

“My apologies, Jim.”

 

“Caught you at a bad time?”

 

It always amazed Spock that Jim was known as a good poker player, because if right now was anything to go by, his poker face sucked.

 

“I am preparing for a dinner engagement.”

 

“It’s a date, Spock. You have a date with Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy. Chief Medical Officer extraordinaire that you have been pining over since Demi-Cetiri V.”

 

“Vulcans are not guilty of ‘pining’, Jim” he replied, in the flattest tone he could manage

 

Jim, unfortunately, was not convinced.

 

“No one on our ship is blind, Spock. Well, except for Lieutenant Grosht. But even she could tell you’ve been pining for the good doctor for years!”

 

Spock opened his mouth to retort, but found that there was nothing he could say to refute Jims claims without outright lying. And Vulcans do not lie. But, then again, they also do not pine.

 

“I have no knowledge of what you are referring to.”

 

Jim simply laughed, and moved towards Spocks wardrobe.

 

“Wear this, he likes you in blue. Wear these, he thinks they make your ass look good. And put on some of that cologne you wore when we had dinner with the delegation from Orion three months back.”

 

Jim threw a pale blue shirt and a pair of black trousers at Spock before starting to sniff his small collection of cologne.

 

Spock stepped forward and picked out a bottle made of red glass and unstoppered it. Jim leant forward to take a sniff.

 

“You know what, I have no idea if that’s the right one because, unlike Bones, I don’t go around sniffing my Vulcan crewmates. But it smells good so you should wear it.”

 

Spock quickly stepped into his bathroom, removed his robe and dressed in the clothes, dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his neck as he dressed.

 

When he came out, Jim was sat in his chair waiting to see the result.

 

“Great! You look great! Bones will be blown away.”

Jims smile dropped as he moved closer to Spock.

 

“This feels kinda awkward, but I have to say it. Bones is my oldest friend Spock. We met each other when our lives were at rock bottom. I was bruised and beaten and he had been divorced for two days. We were both hungover and miserable, but we found a ray of sunshine in each other. I’m not going to say don’t hurt him, because sometimes people get hurt in relationships. I’m just going to say try your very best to make him happy.”

 

“This is our first ‘date’, Jim. I have yet to ascertain if a relationship is really what the doctor wants.”

 

“Trust me Spock, it’s what he wants. You’re the first person he’s asked out in the whole time I’ve known him. And he wouldn’t take a leap like that if he didn’t want something from it.”

 

Jim clapped Spock on the shoulder before walking to the door.

 

“You’d better make a move or you’re going to be late.”

 

Spock glanced at the time display and dashed for the door.

 

****

McCoy opened the door before the chime had even finished.

 

He looked stunning in a grey/green v necked tshirt and a pair of dark grey jeans.

 

For a moment the two men just eyed one another, before McCoy realised he was in the way and stepped aside.

 

Spock walked into the room and looked around. It was far cozier than his own quarters, with a knitted throw over the back of the sofa, a colourful comforter on the bed and a few pieces of artwork on the shelves.

 

But most impressive was his stacks of books. They were all hardbound, aged volumes of different colors and they gave the room a feel of life somehow.

 

The doctor placed his hand on the small of Spocks back and led him towards the small table, where a candle sat in centre stage.

 

McCoy paused. “Too much?” he asked, leaning down to blow it out.

 

Spock seized his wrist, gently tugging to encourage the doctor to straighten.

 

“Not at all.”

 

Realising he still had the doctors hand in his grasp, he was overcome with need. He lifted the doctors hand to his mouth and pressed kisses to the pad of each finger.

 

McCoy sighed at the contact, his eyes slipping closed, but opening again when Spock began to lower his hand.

 

He twisted his hand in Spocks grasp, pulling the Vulcans hand to his own lips and repeating the action.

 

Spock stepped closer running his free hand through the dark silken strands of McCoys hair, before pulling him in by the neck and devouring him with a passionate kiss.

 

Lips and tongue explored and probed, as their hands parted. McCoy rested his on Spocks hips, brushing thumbs under the edges of his shirt, while Spock pressed his hand to the small of McCoys back, drawing their bodies closer.

 

After a few moments McCoy pulled away gasping for air, and Spock inwardly cursed inferior, human lung capacity.

 

The stood breathing heavily for a few moments, simply gazing at one another in mutual disbelief.

 

McCoy glanced at the table.

 

“You hungry?”

 

Spock made a snap decision to be perfectly honest with the doctor.

 

“Not for food.”

 

McCoy whipped his head up too search Spocks eyes. He obviously saw something he liked, because his smile became positively lascivious.

 

“Not for food, huh. Then what are you hungry for, Spock?” he drawled, his accent becoming even more pronounced.

 

“For you, doctor.”

 

“Call me Leonard when you’re in my bed Spock.”

 

“But I am not in your bed, doctor.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

And McCoy dived in for another kiss, this time snaking his entire hands up Spocks shirt and including small nips in amongts the slow but insistent pressure of his lips and tongue.

 

Spock allowed his mental defences to drop and gasped at the onslaught of  _ lust, need, want, MINE,  _ that hit him. He found himself echoing every one of those sentiments as McCoy began to lift his shirt up and over his head, breaking their kiss long enough for Spock to pull it the rest of the way off and for McCoy to practically tear his shirt over his head and fling it away.

  
Fortunately, Spock still had the presence of mind to catch it before it could land on the still lit candle. Laughing, McCoy blew out the candle, before leading Spock backwards towards the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have an epilogue idea to show McCoys versions of these events (in way less freakin' detail) and a bit of smutty goodness could make it's way in there too if people want.
> 
> I just wanted to make sure most of the story wasn't too OOC before I started on the good stuff!
> 
> Please leave comments if you think I need to change or improve something.


	7. McCoys POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoys five times. Some are the same, some focus on different events, but they both end up in the same place!

His Eyes

Jim Kirk was going to be the death of him.

Either that or McCoy was going to be the death of Jim. As in, the literal death of him, if he keeps trying to push that green-blooded hobgoblin on him as a new friend.

McCoy could barely put up with the friend he had. There was no way he needed to add ‘insufferable Vulcan know-it-all’ to the ‘suicidally reckless noble idiot’ that he had somehow adopted on that first shuttle ride to the academy.

 

Despite McCoys best efforts, however, he found himself spending more and more social time with the two men. Often watching them playing chess or sharing a drink in the Captains cabin. He began to consider them acquaintances, and was starting to enjoy their regular debates.

 

Then came Demi-Cetiri V

 

He kept himself awake during some of the tougher stretches of that awful week by imagining how he would counter any of Spocks derogatory comments on his efficiency. But those comments never came. In fact, he got the distinct feeling that Spock was impressed with him.

 

But it was as McCoy was simulating a new experimental formula, that he noticed the nature of Spocks gaze shift slightly. He was working at the clear screen, throwing molecules around and trying to solidify a misty idea that had been swooping around his mind for the last few hours. Spock was at the other end of the room, seated next to one of the test hubs. He was watching McCoy, but was so focussed on the doctors hands he had not realised that McCoy was watching him too.

 

It was the Vulcans eyes that held his attention. They were often directed at him with curiosity, ire, confusion or a mix of any of the above, but never before had they looked at him with such appreciation. He paused in his work for a moment, the air stolen from him by the darkening of the Vulcans eyes, before the moment was broken by the beep of Spocks console. The first officer jumped so hard he bashed his knees on the desk before he turned back to his work.

 

It took a few deep breaths for McCoy to drag his head back to his work, and an idea occurred to him. He returned to his formula with a renewed sense of purpose, and only hours later was testing his newly developed cure.

 

When the drug was finally shown to be successful and distribution had begun, McCoy distantly felt the exhaustion of the last few days catch up with him.

 

The next thing he remembered clearly was waking up in his room 15 hours later, still in his uniform but without his boots, starving hungry and with a throat so dry he downed three glasses of water before he began to feel refreshed.

 

McCoy comm’d up to medical to check the progress of the distribution and when he was finally sure everything was running correctly (and after Nurse Chapel threatened him with dismemberment if he didn’t “get off the goddamn comm and let us do our jobs”) he decided to take a long hot shower.

 

The relaxing pour of water and the heat of the room was enough to finally wake him fully, but it also served to awaken a rather demanding erection. As he slowly pleasured himself, he let his mind drift as normal. A variety of images flickered across his consciousness. The handsome smile of one of the engineering crew, the particularly shapely arse of the helmsman, Uhuras long legs, Chapels perky cleavage and the strong arms and chest of their fit young captain. Then a pair of dark eyes eclipsed everything else and McCoys hand faltered for a second. He was momentarily shocked by the surge of arousal that had hit him when those eyes took centre stage, but he quickly resumed his actions, stroking himself faster and feeling the pleasure build. He came hard, splattering the tiles with his release.

 

He watched it swirl away down the drain as he came down from his orgasmic high, before cleaning himself off and stepping out of the shower.

 

He wrapped himself in a towel and stepped out into his quarters, sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. The eyes he'd seen...they were Spocks. And the pleasure he'd felt at just imaging those eyes could mean only one thing.

 

He had a damn crush on the Vulcan.

 

Fortunately, however, if McCoy was reading the situation right (and admittedly there was a fair chance he was reading it completely wrong but he wasn't going to think about that) it would seem Spock was at least a little interested in him.

“Well, this could be fun” he drawled to the empty room.

 

*****

 

His Hands

McCoy was far more aware of himself than many people gave him credit for. He liked that. He liked that people underestimated him. That his natural soft, southern charm gave him an air of innocence, naivete and modesty.

 

He knew that a lot of people found him attractive, even though he rarely encouraged or welcomed anyones advances, and he had come to recognise the signs of interest early on, so that he could quickly deflect that interest before it got uncomfortable for anyone.

 

But the very last eyes he would have expected to be following him were those of the first officer. But now he was aware of it, McCoy felt those eyes on him frequently.

 

Jim had survived the Khan attack thanks to Bones and Spock (and Uhura of course) and was back where he belonged, the bridge of the Enterprise.

 

They had been given their five year mission, to explore new worlds, and were sent off into space like the Earth explorers of old. It took less than three weeks for the universe to fling some unexpected challenge the doctors way..

 

Ensign Hiro Tadaki was a botanist, part of a scientific away team investigating plant life on a newly discovered M-class planet orbiting a set of binary pulsars. It was the first habitable planet to be found in a pulsar system, and the plant life seemed to have adapted to the unusual solar distortion associated with the two stars.

 

There had been no indication of animal life in any of the scans or pre mission surveys, but it seemed that the scans were wrong.

 

Tadaki was brought in with the kind of wounds you would expect from a mauling by a bear, partially crushed skull, deep gouges across the face and torso, and a crush injury to the ribs.

 

McCoy worked tirelessly for hours in surgery, working to fix the ensigns wounds from the inside out. Regenerators were great (at least they didn't need to sew people back together anymore) but you had to be able to focus them or you could stick the wrong bits back together. In the case of Tadaki, finding the edges of his internal wounds was the hardest challenge. 

 

But he'd done it. McCoy had defeated the odds, earning him admiring praise from almost the entire medical team (with the exception of Christine who just said “What do you want, a medal? Isn't that why you're a CMO?” and then gave him a smile and a wink. She needed to keep up her reputation for intimidation somehow). The ensign would survive, with only a few scars, and McCoy already had four new pieces of research he wanted to pursue to make similar surgeries easier in the future.

 

So it was with a feeling of pride that he took himself off to his office. He sat for a few moments indulging in his post surgery routine of massaging his scalp. It helped him to clear his head, and remove some of the physical pressure that would build there during lengthy operations.

 

He was pressing the heels of his hands into his eyebrows while massaging his temples with his thumbs when he heard the door open. Assuming it was Chapel or some other member of the medical team, he ignored them, only looking up when the footsteps started up again and the door snicked shut.

 

He was surprised to see Spock standing in front of his desk, his hand pulling back to his side as though he had been reaching for something.

 

“Oh, it’s you. What do you want?” McCoy asked, trying to affect his usual surly tone.

 

“I merely wished to ask after your condition? I understand the surgery was most gruelling”

 

“Gruelling is a damn good word for it, Mr Spock. But I’m fine. Ensign Tadaki will pull through so it's a good day's work all round. But we’re not all equipped with Vulcan efficiency so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for your report.”

 

McCoy reached down into his desk drawer and pulled out his bourbon and a glass, pouring a small measure. He downed it in one to take the edge off the leftover adrenaline buzz before offering a glass to the first officer.

 

“My shift has just ended so, yes, I would be amenable to joining you.”

 

McCoy was pretty proud his jaw didn't drop in shock, instead he calmly fished Jims glass out of the drawer (the Captain being the most likely person to share a drink in the CMOs office) and poured a measure for the Vulcan. As he topped up his own drink, his eyes were caught by the long fingered hand that reached out for the glass.

 

Spocks skin was pale, at odds with what you would expect from a race that had evolved on a scorching desert planet. His fingers were long and slim… elegant really. They curved around the glass slowly, as though testing the strength of grip required and McCoy was suddenly reminded of how much stronger Vulcans are than humans.

 

McCoy sat back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but well aware he was probably making it worse. It was only because his gaze hadn’t left Spocks hands that he saw the tiny, aborted move Spock made. A twitch of the fingers so subtle not many would have noticed, but that piqued McCoys curiosity.

 

They sat in companionable silence for a short while, Spocks eyes roving over the doctors face while the doctor himself was formulating a plan to test his idea.

 

By his second drink he had a plan and so began a slow and slightly stilted conversation. By the time he had his fourth drink in hand the conversation was flowing more freely and McCoy had enough data to confirm his hypothesis.

 

That tiny, aborted finger twitch happened unfailingly every time McCoy ran his hand through his hair. And each twitch was accompanied by a second of darkened eyes. 

Once the doctor had confirmed his theory, had planned to stop teasing the guy. But when it came down to it he found he liked being able to provoke that reaction, even if it was miniscule.

 

The evening passed quickly, and they left med bay together still talking. They walked leisurely to their quarters still talking, with McCoy becoming expansive under the influence of good scotch and surprisingly good company, not to mention the ego boost of knowing that (at least physically) he was of interest to his oh so stoic Vulcan crewmate.

 

They stopped outside Spocks quarters and said their goodnights, McCoy running his hands through his hair once more just to see Spocks reaction and was gratified when both of his hands seemed to reach forward before the Vulcan could get them under control. 

 

He observed Spocks less than dignified dash through the door, before retiring to his own quarters to consider the events of the evening, and fell asleep wondering whether Spock had masturbated that evening as he had. The thought swept a sleepy post orgasmic grin across McCoys face as he nodded off to sleep.

 

*****

 

His Hair 

“DON’T ASK” Jim practically bellowed at Bones as he and Spock materialised on the transporter pad.

 

Bones could almost feel his ribs creaking under the pressure of trying not to laugh at the two men, who were covered in green slime. Or at least, what had once been green slime and was now hardened green concrete.

 

Both men were on the floor of the transporter, lay perfectly prone but completely immobilised by the material they were trapped in.

 

“The Athosians gave us this, sir.” Ensign Rand said, stepping down from the transporter pad and pressing a bright blue bottle into the doctors hand. “They said it would dissolve the ‘Krakel’ without doing harm to their skin or clothing. They simply need to be immersed in a solution of 100 parts deionized water to 1 part of that.”

 

“Thank you, Ensign. You’re dismissed” Kirk said from his place on the floor, as Rand practically ran from the room to laugh uncontrollably away from the growls of Kirk and the disapproving eyebrow of Spock.

 

“Right gentlemen. Let’s get these two to sickbay so I can start the cleanup process.”

 

McCoy didn’t even bother trying to hide his smile. They both knew him well enough to know he was finding the whole situation hilarious.

 

The small physiotherapy pool was big enough for the both of them, but Spock and Jim insisted on being cured separately. They were solidly trapped in the stuff, so it wasn’t like they could just be dumped and left or they might drown, so it was up to McCoy to help them.

It took 30 minutes to get all of the stuff off Jim and for him to strip (out of yet another ripped and ruined shirt) and get a clean uniform on, and then Spock was carried in.

 

The nursing team lowered him into the water slowly and then left, knowing how closely Spock valued his privacy.

 

“Okay, Spock. I had to manipulate Jim quite a lot to get the stuff to start to break down, and you seem to have taken a bit more of the brunt here. So just tell me if you feel any discomfort and we’ll take a break.

 

Spock simply nodded so McCoy got to work. His professionalism was never in question as he bathed the vulcan, rubbing and manipulating joints to force the increasingly weakened material off the first officer, but he did almost lose his cool when he got to Spock hair.

 

To begin with it felt stiff and hard, but as he scooped the bathing mixture up and lathered it onto Spocks scalp, he began to feel its true texture. It was soft and silken under his fingers, flowing like black water. And when McCoy applied pressure to his scalp Spock gave the smallest sigh. It was so quiet McCoy almost missed it, so he gently scraped his fingers over Spocks scalp to test yet another theory about the Vulcan. To his delight Spocks sigh was slightly louder this time, although it was cut off quickly, as though he was ashamed of his momentary slip.

 

McCoy became aware that his actions could be construed as unprofessional, and that he might be making Spock uncomfortable, so he went back to simply working the material off Spocks body, succeeding after nearly 50 minutes.

 

When Spock climbed out of the pool he moved to strip and change behind the privacy screen nearby as McCoy climbed out and began drying himself.

 

Spock cleared his throat just as the doctor was pulling on his trousers, his torso still bare. God his Vulcan could be stealthy. McCoy froze as he realised the words that had just crossed his mind.

 

“Thank you for your assistance, doctor.”

“Any time, Spock.” he replied.

 

He finished dressing in silence after Spock left, then took a moment to bury his head in his hands. ‘ _ My Vulcan _ ’ he practically growled at himself. ‘Since when has he been my Vulcan. Goddamn it. I’m falling hard’

 

Oddly, that thought was not as terrifying as it once might have been.

 

*****

 

His Body

McCoys appreciation of Spocks body was not based on its attractiveness, although it certainly was attractive, but on its resilience.

 

When they finally got that blasted swarm ship landed at Yorktown and Spock had seen to getting the enterprise crew safely housed somewhere, McCoy eventually managed to persuade him to visit the hospital.

 

With Spock laid out mostly naked before him, with the exception of a pair of white briefs, McCoy was free to marvel at Vulcan strength and healing. What had been an ugly, jagged wound had become a dark scorch mark thanks to his emergency cauterising.

 

Then, after something closer to decent triage treatment, it had become a raised green scar about five inches long.

 

Now, under the regenerator, the scar was already fading; shrinking in length as the less severe edges were fully repaired.

 

Spock was in a healing trance, aiding in the work of the regenerator with his own brand of internal repair. McCoy had been sat in the stiff plastic chair at his side for nearly two hours.

 

The pain he’d felt when trying to wake Spock on the planet still clung to him, and the idea of leaving left him feeling slightly nauseated.

 

“Leonard”

 

Spocks voice broke into McCoys thoughts, rousing him from almost sleep. He was sat up, with a robe now covering him from shoulder to calf.

 

“Spock. How are you feeling?”

 

“As expected, Leonard, the healing trace has completed what your medical devices could not. I feel perfectly well. You, on the other hand, appear to have pushed yourself far beyond your physical tolerance. Why are you not in your assigned quarters resting?”

 

McCoy must have been  _ really _ exhausted, because he answered that question entirely honestly.

 

“I didn’t want to leave you. I couldn’t leave you”

 

Spock smiled, and reached out. As his fingers connected with McCoys temple he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

 

The next thing he remembered he was waking up on the bio bed in Spocks hospital room, and the Vulcan was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, a note.

 

“Dear Leonard,

I hope you slept well.

Your exhaustion was obvious so I took the logical course of action and aided in you achieving restful, REM sleep.

As I was fully recovered, it seemed only fitting to allow you the bed.

S”

 

McCoy felt very grateful for the healing powers of Vulcan bodies in that moment. Because according to the chronometer on the bedside, he had been asleep for 22 hours.

 

*****

 

His Smile

McCoy was lost.

 

He had had a great spar with Jim, and it had worn him out, but he couldn’t sleep.

 

His mind kept going over the same problem.

 

How the hell do you ask out a Vulcan.

 

He barely slept, and so when he arrived in the cafeteria the following morning, he wasn’t exactly feeling his best.

 

But then Nichelle had grabbed his hand and pulled him over. The joy that twinkled in her eyes at his simple tricks reminded him of what had been his grandmother's mantra ‘you only live once, so find happiness wherever you can’.

 

He didn’t know if Spock could make him happy, and he definitely didn’t know if he could make SPock happy. But he knew he wanted to try.

 

After everyone but Spock had left, and after a moment of tear filled weakness brought on by memories of Joanna, he got up to leave himself. He was only a couple of steps away when his grandmother's voice practically yelled at him to grab his chance at happiness. He stopped and turned.

 

And asked Spock to join him for a walk. And Spock….said yes.

 

They parted to do a few things, in McCoys case to brush his teeth and try to flatten his hair and get himself a new jumper and  _ calm down dammit, it’s just a walk,  _ before meeting again in the lobby.

 

They walked along the lake for a short while, until McCoy stopped and leant against the railing. He could feel Spock considering him, clearly wondering why they had come for a walk if McCoy was going to be silent the whole time. But the doctor was just gathering his thoughts.

 

He finally spoke.

 

“I have a question to ask you, Spock. But before I ask it I want you to make me a guarantee. That no matter what your response, our professional relationship will remain unchanged.”

 

McCoy held his breath for a second, waiting for Spock reply. When it came, it was earnest and honest.

 

“I can assure you, Doctor. My professional respect for you will continue as long as your standard of work remains as admirably high as it has always been. No change in our personal situation will affect that.”

 

McCoy smiled. Of course he would put a condition of continued excellence on the maintenance of respect. I mean, this is Spock isn’t it! But the familiar quality of the response made him bold.

 

He stepped forward and took Spocks hand in his.

 

“Would you like to join me for dinner in my quarters this evening?”

 

The shock on Spocks face would have been clear to anyone. And as the silence stretched on a little too long, McCoy felt his heart sink. He had made a terrible mistake. He tried to draw his hand back, but it was snatched in both of Spocks, who held it infront of his chest.

 

Spocks mumbled reply of “Yes” made McCoy light up. He smiled as wide as he had for a long time, and Spock looked up from their joined hands to bask in it.

 

To McCoys delight, Spock leant in, and their lips met in a chaset kiss that still managed to warm McCoy as effectively the as the sun in Georgia on a hot summer's day.

 

The kiss ended and McCoy pulled back slightly to see Spocks face, eyes closed and with a small curve to his lips that could only be described as a satisfied smile.

 

The sight made McCoy so happy he laughed.

 

“I’m going to need that hand back, Spock”

  
  


*****

 

His Mind

 

McCoy couldn’t believe his luck.

He was lay on his back on his bed, naked save for his boxers, with nearly 6 feet of gorgeous and horny Vulcan towering over him.

 

Spock leant down and initiated another mind blowing kiss, driving McCoy wild with his tongue as he traced the roof of his mouth, the backs of his teeth and curled around his own tongue. Every kiss seemed to get deeper and deeper, wetter and slicker and more desperate, reflecting the need of the two men.

 

“I would like to perform fellatio on you, doctor”

 

“Well, first off, what did I say about calling me Leonard when you’re in my bed?” Spock looked contrite for a split second before their lips came together again “And secondly” McCoy continued when his mouth was once again free of Vulcan tongue “I think that is a blasted good idea.”

 

Without a moment's pause, Spock shimmied down McCoys body and came to rest on his knees between the doctors thighs. McCoy was about to make a comment about the positioning not being right for the removal of his boxers when Spock simply took the material in his fists and ripped it at each leg seam.

 

McCoy drew a breath to protest, but the it was punched out of him by the feeling of a hot, wet mouth descending on his cock.

 

Spock sucked the length, up and down, up and down, before pulling off to lick and suck at the sensitive head. McCoys hands were fisted in the sheets as he fought not to buck his hips, but Spock reached out and took McCoys hands in his own, stroking at them to encourage the loosening of his grip. Then he moved his hands to underneath the doctors hips and gave a slight tug, clearly saying it was ok for McCoy to move.

 

His first few thrusts were tentative, but Spock tugged at his hips again and McCoy began to thrust up a bit more confidently.

 

Spock moaned as a particularly hard thrust had the doctor crying out with pleasure and McCoy finally let go, fucking into Spocks mouth hard and fast, chasing his own release. He came hard, and Spock swallowed every drop, lifting off and sliding sinuously up McCoys body to engage in another deep, toe curling kiss.

 

“Wow” McCoy breathed when he finally regained the power of speech.

 

“Indeed”

 

They started laughing together as a glint came over McCoys eyes and he flipped their positions. He slid down the bed and took spock in his own mouth, marvelling at the sweet taste of the pre come beading at the tip.

 

He teased with his tongue, holding only the head in his mouth as he curled and pressed and lapped, only sinking down when Spock growled at him and thrust his hips up.

 

McCoy grinned around Spocks cock as he sank down as low as he could, wrapping his hand around the base and pumping in time with the movements of his mouth.

 

Spock suddenly reached down and pressed his fingers to McCoys temples and the doctor was overwhelmed with the sensations that shot through him.

 

He could feel the pleasure coursing through Spocks body, feel the slow unraveling of his tightly held control, but more than that, he felt Spocks emotions.

And, boy, had McCoy been wrong every time he had ever said that the vulcan was unfeeling. If the depth and force of Spocks love for him was anything to go by, Spocks emotions were as powerful and tumultuous as McCoys own, they were just held under far tighter control.

 

Usually. But right now, McCoy was being pelted with those emotions like a quenching thunderstorm in the middle of a dry summer.

 

He was loved. Intensely, passionately, deeply.

 

And my god, did he feel exactly the same way.

 

Spock came down McCoys throat, while the good doctor was high on the joy of loving and being loved equally as intensely in return.

 

It was a loss when Spocks fingers disconnect from his temples, but the soft hand cupping his jaw and leading him up for a languid kiss was lovely in a different way.

 

“I love you, Leonard. My Ashayam”

 

“And I love you, Spock.”

 

They fell asleep tangled in one another, completely forgetting about dinner.


End file.
